Shuttlebay 6, Deck 276, Lower Space Dock

Wednesday 4th September 2391

It was a long way from hospital reception to the bay where a FedKIN shuttle (although naturally there were no markings to denote it as such) was waiting to take Krang and Chrissie down to the planet. Override codes were used to speed up the journey across the starbase but although he would not admit it, by the time they reached the shuttlebay, Krang was already tired, and despite his best efforts, grumpiness was starting to override his excitement at finally getting out of sickbay.

Smartly dressed as always in his black Imperial Intelligence uniform, Colonel Kahsil stood waiting by the hatch. Seeing Krang and Chrissie arrive, he came to attention and offered them a crisp salute.

"What are you doing here?" Krang's tone was a little gruffer than he'd intended. "Piloting is not one of your duties; one of the junior agents should have been assigned."

"I am your assistant, am I not?" the young officer pointed out with a calm that was both admirable and completely untypical for a Klingon. "Therefore, I am assisting. Would my lord care to take the second seat?"

Chrissie wanted to object, but co-piloting a shuttle on a short flight was hardly arduous. Still, it would have been nice for them to sit together in the passenger area at the back, just as they had done in the old days, back when he'd been governor of Earth, a position which demanded that he have his own pilot. He'd sat a little closer than was strictly necessary, and she clearly remembered how her breath had caught at the feel of that powerful, leather-clad thigh pressed against hers, and how he'd inadvertently brushed against her breast as he'd leaned over to check her seatbelt – or had it been deliberate? Either way, she'd liked it. There would be plenty more opportunities to come, she told herself, and anything that kept her husband in a good mood was a bonus, so she kept quiet and did not complain.

In the end, she didn't sit alone. About to settle himself in the co-pilot's seat, Krang had looked back at her, and seeing something in her eyes, held out a hand. "There is room for a third person up front. Come and sit with me, Chrissie."

There was only just enough space for two in the co-pilot's area, and by necessity, the couple had to sit very close together, very much in the way she had been fondly remembering. He was not wearing leather today, but denim jeans, but to Chrissie, it still felt good… and when he leaned over to check her seatbelt fastenings, her heartrate speeded up just as it had done that other time. He noticed, of course, and offered her a wicked smile that caused her to blush a bright crimson red.

If Kahsil noticed anything, he wisely remained silent, very carefully keeping his attention strictly on his piloting. He was as good at piloting as he was at his other duties, and when clearance to depart was given by the flight controllers, and the space doors were fully open, the shuttle lifted from the deck without even the slightest wobble, passing through the forcefield and out into the vast blackness of space.

The view from the front window was spectacular, and although she had done this journey many times before, it was a sight that Chrissie, a child of the twentieth century, had never quite got used to. As the shuttle banked, she could not hold back a little gasp of awe at the sight of the massive starbase highlighted against the planet far below. They began their descent, moving rapidly downwards through the layers of Frontera's atmosphere. Remembering why it was that she normally liked to sit in the back, she tightened her grip on Krang's hand as nervousness replaced her sense of wonder. Krang, of course, she noted with disgust, was not bothered in the slightest. As for Kahsil, she was convinced that he was showing off for the boss.

They were almost at ground level now, the surface rising up to meet them so rapidly that Chrissie momentarily closed her eyes and squeezed Krang's hand even harder than she already was. Opening them again, she was rewarded by a spectacular aerial view of her gardens as Kahsil brought the shuttle round in a low, sweeping circle, before coming down to land on the driveway in front of the house.


Gravely thanking Kahsil for his service, Krang took his wife's hand and assisted her to exit from the shuttle. He was barely aware of the younger officer's salute and then the hatch closing again before the shuttle took its leave to return to the starbase.

The Klingon stood for a while, looking around him and taking in his surroundings, and then for no particular reason other than the sheer pleasure of being outdoors in the fresh air, he wandered into the garden, making his way around the house and admiring the late summer flowers as he walked. He had wanted this so much, the feel of the wind in his hair and the heat of the sun on his face. The weather had cooperated, offering up a warm, sunny afternoon with a gentle breeze and he could not deny that it felt good.

Coming to a halt by his favourite rose bush, the one he had given Chrissie for their first anniversary and which had come to mean so much to them both, he was distressed to see that it had been almost completely destroyed. It looked dead, and despite the warmth of the sun, Krang shivered. It had been a day just like this one, he remembered, that he had taken his daughter and grandson to the park, the safest of places, full of people enjoying themselves, plenty of park rangers and security personnel on site, and anti-transport shields in place. His daughter's voice. "Can I have an ice cream, Daddy?" Blackness, and then another, less welcome voice, cold and hard. "Oh… you're awake. Can't be 'aving that, can we now." Blackness again. A third voice, cruel and demanding, wanting information that he could not… must not… give.

Shuddering, he closed his eyes in an attempt to force the memories away from him. He would not concede them the victory. There were other voices he would listen to. His son. "Sleep now; I'll stand watch. T'Lia, calm and reassuring. "Breathe in… and out again." Chrissie. The words were indistinct, and he could not make them out, but they were full of love. Eyes still closed, he called up the image of her that had sustained him through the worst of his ordeal. Something stirred in his mind, comforting him and soothing his soul. His angel. He was home and he was safe.

Inhaling deeply, he opened his eyes again and focussed his gaze on what was left of the anniversary rose. Bending, he reached out to touch the mutilated plant, caressing the bare, woody stems devoid… and there it was… a small, green bud, opening to reveal a newly formed leaf. Relief filled him. The rose would survive and recover… and so would he.


Making his way back to the front of the house where Chrissie was waiting for him, the Klingon noticed that someone – and he suspected that Fina and Arwen were the guilty parties – had put balloons on the porch railings and a banner over the door saying, 'Welcome Home' in both English and tlhIngan Hol. He looked at them in bemusement. He'd never quite understood the purpose of balloons, but they were bright and cheerful, and Chrissie was looking at him hopefully, so he nodded and told her what he thought she wanted to hear. It must have been the right thing to say, because her slightly worried expression gave way to a smile.

The house was empty, and for this one night, they would have it to themselves. Arwen, probably prompted by her older sister, had declared loudly that Mum and Vavoy needed a romantic night to themselves and invited herself to stay at her best friend's house overnight. What a ten-year-old girl should know about romance was not something Krang wanted to consider, but he could not deny that it was thoughtful of her.

On a table in the foyer, was a large bag from the station's Klingon restaurant, as well as a white box with a stylised drawing of the Eiffel Tower on it. With some pleasure, Chrissie recognised the logo as that of a bakery that had been opened recently by the French husband of a Starfleet officer who had been assigned to the starbase. Their 'home-made' pastries were some of the best she had ever tasted. She looked up at him. "Are you hungry?"

He shook his head. "No, not really." At least, not for food, he thought, looking at his wife. His stomach rumbled faintly, causing him to reconsider his refusal. "A little, maybe. I think I could eat a pastry, and then I would like a shower. I can smell the hospital disinfectant on my skin."

"I'll put the food in the stasis unit then." Picking up the bag, she peered into it, taking note of the rokeg pie, which was one of the few Klingon foods she was willing to eat, and a side portion of gladst, which she actually liked. There was, thankfully, no gagh. She could peel some potatoes and make some nice, chunky chips to go with it – not exactly a Klingon dish but chips went with everything and both she and Krang would enjoy them. Her mind on the meal she would prepare, she took the food into the kitchen, putting the bag in the stasis unit for later before opening the pastry box and placing its contents on a tray. Pain au chocolat, butter croissants, and some Danish pastries with the yellow filling that was Krang's favourite.

Returning to the living room, with the tray of pastries, Chrissie came through the door just in time to hear Krang saying, "Computer, what is a petiole?"

"A petiole is the stalk that supports a leaf in a plant and attaches it to the stem.

Chrissie raised an interested eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"I... um… I've been thinking for a while that I'd like to learn a bit more about plants," he said, holding up the book that was on his lap and waving it in her general direction. A little battered from frequent use, it was a proper book with plasticised pages designed for outdoor use, and she recognised it immediately. The Wildflower Key: A field Guide to the Identification of Fronteran wildflowers (Revised Edition). It was a professional level book, probably the least user friendly of all the books she owned, and not at all suitable for the casual reader.

That was surprising. In twenty-three years, her husband had shown almost no interest in the subject, other than to occasionally look at a flower and say that it was pretty. Still, she was not going to discourage him. Putting the tray down on the coffee table, she went across to the bookshelf, and after a moment's thought, pulled out a couple of books. "I think these might be better," she said, handing them to him.

He studied the first of the two books for a moment and then looked up at her, not quite sure whether to be amused or offended. "Botany for Dummies?"

Chrissie grinned, having a good idea what he was thinking. "It's actually a good book for beginners," she told him. "You need to tell the difference between a dandelion and a daffodil, not between dog and early dog violet, or between cow parsley and…"

"Parsley is a herb, is it not?" he interrupted. "What does it have to do with bovines?"

"It's just a name. Now, do you want another pastry or are you going to go and have that shower you were talking about?"

Deciding to quit while he was ahead and forestall any further botanical explanations, he rose to his feet. The pastries were undoubtedly good, but they could wait. "The shower, I think."

Chrissie watched him go. She was trying her best not to be too fussy or clingy, but it was hard, and she could not stop herself from worrying as he went up the stairs. Despite his release from hospital, he was still nowhere near being back to his full strength, and she'd briefly considered the idea of making up a room for him… for them both… downstairs but had come to the conclusion that he'd be insulted by that. He seemed to be fine on the stairs, although he took them more slowly and carefully than she remembered.

"Chrissie…" His voice floated down to her from the bedroom door. "What is this?"

What was what? She was about to ask when she remembered the shirt, the one he'd forgotten to put in the wash, and which was very likely still lying on their bed. It was in desperate need of washing but the scent which clung to it had been reassuring and comforting during those long, lonely nights and she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. Oh God, how embarrassing; how on earth was she going to explain that to him?

Making her way up the stairs to join him, and automatically stepping sideways halfway up to avoid the creak, she joined him in the doorway, and was relieved, although very surprised to see that the dirty uniform shirt was not the subject of his query, and said shirt was in fact, nowhere in sight.

The entire bedroom had been transformed into a romantic… 'boudoir' was the only word she could think of. Fina and Arwen –and it had to have been them, because certainly it hadn't been her – had changed all the bedding and then scatted bright, crimson rose petals all over the quilt. Next to the bed was a bottle of champagne, two flutes and a small box of chocolates. The label was clearly visible, and Chrissie's mind almost stalled at the sight; Louis Roederer Crystale was rare and very expensive and could only have come from their own wine cellar. What were the girls thinking? No, she decided, they were right. What better use for such a wine than to celebrate her husband's survival?

"It's champagne."

"I know that. I meant all the…" He trailed off, glaring at her and gesturing vaguely towards the flower petals before giving up and going into the en suite bathroom. He stopped at the door and turned back. "Well? Are you coming?"

She blinked. "Coming where?"

"The shower, of course. I will require assistance to wash my back." The look he directed at her was heated and full of promise.

Yes, she was definitely coming.


Chrissie stretched luxuriously, ignoring the inconvenient fact that she was still soaking wet, that the sheets on which she was lying were also wet, and she had rose petals clinging to awkward places – as did he, she noted, reaching over to remove a crimson petal from a 'delicate' part of his anatomy.

His hand shot out and captured hers. "If you want me again, Chrissie-oy, you need only ask…"

"You are insatiable," she teased, "and yes, I do want you again, but if you don't mind, I'd rather change these sheets first.

"That's my Chrissie." He pretended to sulk at the rejection. "Always so practical and unromantic."

"There's nothing romantic about cold and clammy," she retorted. "Still, it's good to be in our own bed instead of trying not to fall out of the one in the hospital." She rolled over, put her feet on the floor and got up, moving across the room and opening the ottoman to retrieve fresh bedding. "Come on, up you get."

"It was rather small for both of us," he agreed, stretching lazily before obediently getting up and ripping the wet sheets off the bed. "And we did not have a lot of privacy."

"I was always expecting that damned heart monitor to go off and summon the medical staff," she said. "The last time I stayed, your heart was going like a steam train. Not surprising, really," she added, "considering what you kept trying to do."

He laughed. "I disabled it."

That startled her. "What do you mean, you disabled it?"

"It was simple enough," he said smugly. "I made a slight alteration to its programming, so it broadcast a pre-recorded loop of my vital signs from the previous night. The last thing I wanted was the nurses coming running and disturbing us because they thought I was having a heart attack."

She gave him a look that was both horrified and admiring, not quite knowing whether to laugh at his audacity or point out how dangerous that could have been. In the end she settled for neither and reached up to kiss him again. Any idea of making the bed completely forgotten, Chrissie did manage to throw a blanket over the mattress before they fell onto it in a tangled heap.

After that, no more words were necessary.


The end.